Malice In Sicily
by ReindeerTongue
Summary: When you make a fatal mistake, everyone knows you either fight or die. But Alice is interested in a third option. Running. A daring thought requiring a genius plan. However, planning has never been Alice's forte. BelphegorXOC BelXOC


_So much blood. So very much blood. Clogging my throat and drifting through my nostrils. It was art. Pure, exact, art. A form of such precise slaughtering a giggle trickled forth from my throat._

_"Keh-keh-keh-keh..." I could hear the sound of my own snickers bounce about the walls. The walls covered in scarlet revenge. Oh, the beauty! Oh, the grace! It was a dance, an intricate performance between murderer and victim. And I was leading every step. Slipping about on puddles of death and my leftover limbs. They were all gone now, every single person. Those evil men who'd betrayed me with the promise of safety. All of them, dead. Their heads had been placed in a line, each one holding an expression far more gruesome than the last. I was a genius. A perfect, blood drenched, gore loving genius. With quite the Frankenstein complex, if I make myself honest. I snipped the last bit of suture from my needle with smile. The invention had been finished. Ah, it was glorious. Oh, it was perfect! So exact and real and fresh. I could inhale pure wonder the amount of it in the air was so vast. Such elegance, such decadence. My hands were the instruments of the gods, were they not?_

_I stepped back to admire my work. The sniggering exploded. A flower of human body parts? A gorgeous daisy made of severed limbs? Who would have thought? Who? Only I could have spun such pure gold. Only Alice could have created something filled with such vibrant perfection. Such deviously delicate petals, formed from the arms and legs of my once captors. Such grace. Such amazement created by the fingers of a Valkyrie herself. I'd lost my mind completely, but was it not worth it? Anyone who glanced up this masterpiece, this magnum opus, would immediately know my splendor. The legend I'd established. They would know the genius of Alice. For the perfection of this work would let anyone see my wit. The way I strived for nothing but the absolute best. In fact, my works would not show only the views of Alice. They would allow anyone to gaze through the eyes of Malizia._

_The eyes of a visionary._

I awoke like any other fifteen year old girl, covered head to toe blood that wasn't my own and absolutely disgusted with myself. The roar of some horrible, auto-tuned, generic American pop song punching me in the severely hungover face while a rug handmade by an enslaved Persian prince held me securely hostage. That was how the other teenagers woke up, right? Slick with a thick sheet of sweat, surrounded by empty syringes, tourniquets with tooth marks, and what appeared to be a bundle of severed limbs arranged in a sort of... Bouquet, for lack of a better word. Okay, so maybe not your stereotypical teenager. I would guess most of them don't have the money to buy enslaved Persian prince rugs, ruin them almost nightly, and have them sent to the sad Asian dry cleaner they keep in their basement specifically to take care of blood stains. I don't think most kids do that, but then again I don't know youth culture all that well.

Alice Bonadarci is more of a blood coated contract killer than an adorable skirt wearing schoolgirl. In fact, I sort of got thrown out of school due to some activities the Board of Education back in America dubbed 'medically insane'. So I would guess I wasn't really the puppy-preppy girl I wanted to be. Even though it was the bane of most young female's existence, I wanted to be called a tit-less whore by someone I didn't even know, I wanted to over message someone popular on that Facebook thing and get punched in the face the next Monday, that stuff sounded pretty fun and normal. But Malizia had sucked every fleck of event less life from my soul. She was a burden, to be honest, and she had ruined my life on more than one occasion. Not to mention she was the one who rammed drugs, booze, and copious amounts of food down my throat.

But we do have a lot of similar features. We both like blood, food, and enslaved Persian prince rugs. We both work in the medical profession, we both kill, yet we don't share a strange attraction to normality. I could compare and contrast all day but none of the other stuff really matters. The only other real similarity is that we share a body.

* * *

><p><em><strong>BLAME THE SQUIRRELS. I was trying to post the rewrite but I shit you not another squirrel demolished my wiring. Anyhow I hope you guys enjoyed the rewritten first chapter~ Fav alert and most of all review!<strong>_

_**~The tongue**_


End file.
